


#silver lining

by softclaws



Series: #college [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: College AU, F/M, I put all the tags for the whole series, I slipped some original characters in here for stuffing instead of dropping all canon characters, LOOK AT ALL OF THESE TAGS, M/M, Mentions of Sex, The tag list is going to just keep growing, a lot of tags are more passing mentions than actual things, aka this fic is rated mature to be safe, and maybe violence there might be violence, everyone is in college and its glorious, i have no idea how this website works, rated mature for language
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-02
Updated: 2014-11-03
Packaged: 2018-02-23 20:38:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2554853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softclaws/pseuds/softclaws
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pietro isn't new to the college thing. He's a sophomore, twenty; been here, done this. But some new faces, new challenges and one really big test have him all sorts of confused.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. #new car smell

**Author's Note:**

> I have nothing to say for myself. This work has not been beta'd - I was literally editing as I put it up.
> 
> Also I do NOT speak Russian. At all. I used the internet and I apologize in advanced for any inaccuracy. I really tried to check more than one source.

Wanda is just saying goodbye to Marlena when Pietro slides into the chair next to her. 

“Weekly red-head society meeting?” He quips. She tries to hold in her sigh, but it escapes.

“We’re trying to study for the SEAs,” She said, flipping her book shut, “You know, what you should be doing.”

He stuck his tongue out at her, “Laaaaaaame.”

“What do you want, Peter?”

“Teach me Russian.” He demands.

“I don’t know Russian, Pete.” She’s putting her books into her backpack, but then pauses, flipping her red hair over her shoulder before fixing him with a stare. “Why do you need to learn Russian?”

“No reason.” He’s got his goggles around his neck, playing with them idly. “Seriously we have a favorite uncle Pietro, the one I was _named_ after and neither one of us knows Russian? You took like forty language courses at your special smarty-hoighty-toighty private school. And you didn’t take Russian?”

“I took French, and it was only five courses. Green Hills was _not_ hoighty-toighty.”

Peter rolls his eyes so hard he swears they might pop right out of his head, “Riiight, and I’m the queen of England.”

“You’re a queen alright.”

“Are you going to teach me Russian or no?”

“Peter,” She holds his head with both hands, “I do not speak Russian. Go ask Kitty to teach you. She’s around that Piotr guy all the time.”

“I was trying to avoid engaging her. She’s very…intense.”

“I- _wait_. Don’t tell me you want in the Russian’s pants.”

“Mom told me it was bad to lie.”

“Stop being a shit.”

He grins, leaning back in the chair, “He’s nice. And he’s not terrible to look at. But he started babbling at me in Russian and I just sort of nodded and smiled and I…why are you laughing?”

“You could just talk to him in English, Pete. He does speak English.”

“Yeah, but I want to be able to understand it when he talks dirty to me.”

“Peter!”

“Come on, Wanda. It’s much sexier when you know someone is murmuring ‘I want to fuck you hard’ in your ear, don’t you think?”

“Pietro Demyan Maximoff,” Wanda scolded, her brow furrowing, “Stop being gross! Go take your hormones outside!”

“Oh, stop being such a prude, Wands.” He zips out of the chair, flips her hair, and zips out of the library before she even thinks of a counter. Wanda shakes her head and checks her phone, answering a short text from Raven before gathering her coat and heading out of the library. Part of her was curious to know what sort of trouble her idiot twin was going to get into. Part of her said _don’t get involved you’ll regret it._

\--

Pietro reclined on his bed, clicking his pen with his tongue. 

_If engaged with Mutant X, who’s powers allow her to absorb and redistribute energy, what is your personal best method of countering these effects?_

Standard Educational Assessment. He wanted to puke. The rest of his collegiate career depended on this stupid assessment. And yet, despite its looming importance, he couldn’t stop thinking about Piotr Rasputin.

“Hey, Beastie?” He says out of nowhere.

“Yes, Peter?”

“Do you know how to speak Russian?”

Hank peers at Pietro over his glasses, “I knew a few phrases, but I’m not fluent. Why?”

“No reason.” He goes back to clicking his pen, trying to focus on his studies. Failing. “What kind of phrases?”

“Oh, the basics. ‘Hello’, ‘Goodbye’, ‘Thank you’.”

“Could you teach me?” Pete bites down on the pen, and Hank sighs.

“Right now?”

“Or whenever. But like, soon would be _great_.”

“I’ll start you with hello to tie you over, but then I have to get back to studying, okay?”

“Yeah, uhuh!”

Hank adjusts his glasses, “ _Privyet_ is really informal, and should probably only be used by people you know really well. But the formal version is _zdrast-vuy-tye_.”

“Privyet.” Peter repeats. Hank shakes his head.

“You have to kind of roll your r’s. Like your name for example. Pietrro. Hear how it sounds like there’s two r’s? Pietrro.”

Peter swallows. He wasn’t particularly aware of any of his kinks he might have had before this point, but this was one of them. He could listen to his name with the Russian lilt all freakin’ day. Praise be the woman who gave him a Russian name.

“Pietro?” GLORIOUS PRAISE. Was he sweating? He toyed with the goggles around his neck, half zoning. “ _Pete_?”

“Yeah, two r’s. Privyet. _Privyet_.”

“There you go.”

“And _zdrast…vuy-tye_?”

“Yep.” Hank is back to his studies and Peter murmurs Russian to himself until he gets the rolling r’s just right. He’s back to clicking his pen, muttering _privyet_ to himself between clicks.

“Pete, please stop clicking your pen.” Hank says, setting his notebook down on the desk a little harder than he intends to. “I-I’m sorry. It’s just. I really have to study for the SEA and…and that…that gets pretty annoying, you know?”

“Sorry.”

Hank sighs, “To say goodbye is _do svidaniya_ or _poka_ , informally.”

Pietro lights up.

“Seriously, why Russian?”

“Call it a new found interest in a very interesting tongue.”

“Right.”

“Thanks, Hank. You’re a peach.” He throws his stuff on the bed, and grabs his headphones and iPod before dashing out the door. Hank blinks, trying to figure out what his roommate was even up to. Then again, maybe it was better if he didn’t know. He did, however, make a mental note to learn a bit more Russian when he could.

Peter doesn’t run. He doesn’t speed. He walks. The deep bass, and low lyrics are slow and soothing, and he’s standing outside Lee Hall before he realizes what he’s doing. He reaches down, plucking a smooth stone from the ground and whips it at a window. Fourth in, second floor. It pings off the glass and he waits until a tall, broad figure appears, sliding the window open.

“Ohy?”

Peter waves, “Hey, Piotr!”

“Yo, Silver,” Comes another voice from inside the room, “Wanna keep it down? Some of us are actually trying to pass our SEAs.”

Peter shrugged, “Sorry, Armando.”

“I’ll be right down, Pietro,” Piotr closed the window as Pete rocked on his heels, tucking his iPod in his pocket and looping his headphones around his neck with his goggles. He’s trying not to run when Piotr opens the door, zipping his vest up as he steps into the cool outside air.

“Sorry about Armando. He’s…”

“Stressed?”

“ _Dha._.”

“Hey, it’s okay. I get it. Hank’s pretty…I was kind of annoying him I guess.”

“Was there a reason for such a late night visit?”

“It’s not that la-shit. It’s eleven-thirty. Wow, sorry. I have an incredibly poor sense of time. I uh, I can just go. If you’re busy. You’re probably busy. With exams and stuff. I’ll just go. Yeah, see y’roun-”

“Pietro.” Peter gives a little shiver. His name was like a prayer on that tongue. He could sing a hymn to that. He could worship the very ground. He could kneel-

“I uh, wanted to know if maybe you wanted to maybe catch a movie sometime or something.” He’s rocking on his heels.

Piotr rubs the back of his neck, “Uh, I would like that very much, but. Katherine and I are…we are currently...”

Oh. Shit. 

Peter gave a little thumbs up, “Dating. Right. Oh man, I’m sorry. I should have definitely picked up on that. Sorry. I uh. I’ll let you get back to studying, then. The SEAs are like, what, Thursday? Yeah, I should go do some learning or something. Thanks uh, see ya.”

“Of course, Pietro.” He shivers again. Stop stop stop stop stooooop.

He doesn’t mean to run, but he does. He’s across campus in seconds, laying on the wide, concrete border that forms a bench around a fountain. He’s on his back, staring up at the stars, the lyrics of his music drowning the one thought that keeps crossing his mind:

God dammit.


	2. #night ride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Late night pancakes. Pietro has a motorcycle.
> 
> EDIT: IM SO TERRIBLE I FORGOT. SPECIAL NOD TO [AetherBunny](http://archiveofourown.org/users/AetherBunny) FOR COMING UP WITH THE "Hanky Panky" thing. Go read her stuff. Her stuff is choice! Quality!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I introduce an OC in this chapter. She's just dialogue fodder. Makes it easier for me to write random restaurant staff.
> 
> I ACTUALLY KNOW ABOUT MOTORCYLES (versus not knowing shit about Russian).
> 
> Again, not beta'd.

“You have temporarily lost your powers, Pete. What would you do in the case of a Class C emergency?”

Pietro groans and pulls the notebook off of his face, “Uhh. Class C. That’s uh…fuck. A class C emergency is one that does not involve the local authorities, which means a citizen could handle it. Even with a temporary loss of powers, I could still act as a citizen and take care of whatever needed to be taken care of; kitten in a tree, old lady falling down, whatever.”

“Very good. Pretty excellent answer if you ask me.” Hank showers Pietro with praise, “Alright, just one more question for the night and then we’ll give it a rest.”

“Uhuhhhnnnn.” He groans and replaces the notebook over his eyes. “Or!” He sits up, flinging pens, pencils, papers, books, and a sundry of other study materials to the floor and exclaims, “We can hit the diner downtown for some late night study brain food. They have super excellent pancakes.”

“Peter, neither one of us has a car-“

“Wrong, Hanky Panky!” Pietro is pulling his coat on, “I have a bike.” He pulls on fingerless gloves, zips his coat up, “Now then, are you coming or-“

“I am _not_ getting on a motorcycle that _you’re_ driving.”

“Ouch. I’ll go _slow._ ”

Hank side-eyes him, sighing when Pietro pouts. He honestly. That pout. He could rule the world with a pout like that. “Fine. But if you kill me, I am going to haunt your textbooks and chase you around with them.” He cleans his glasses on the hem of his shirt, putting them back on before grabbing his coat out of the closet.

“Sweet. Haunted textbooks. Wonder if the bookstore would give you a refund for a haunted textbook…?” Pietro lead the way, grabbing his keys off the desk before the door swung closed.

“These pancakes had better be worth it,” Hank murmurs, raking his hand through his hair as he looks over the motorcycle. It’s modern, pearlescent white. Hank thought the term for them was ‘crotch-rocket’, though he is _very_ skeptical about the origin of the phrase. He barely has time to react as Pete throws a helmet at him. The visor is tinted black, the paint the same color as the bike. There is silver paint droplets and trails coming from around the visor, making the helmet look as though it’s oozing mercury.

 _Quicksilver,_ Hank thinks: _What a shit._

“There, safety-McGee. Now you’ll be super safe.”

“Aren’t you going to put one on?”

“Shit, nah. You’ve got my only one.” He pulls his hair back, tying it with a small black band before snapping his goggles over his eyes. He adjusts his gloves, makes sure his jacket is zipped. Hank pauses, fidgets with the helmet before pulling it on to hide his expression. Pietro the biker. Yeah. Yeaaaah. That’s something he could live with. He probably wasn’t going to drive the speed limit, or stop for stop signs, or…or…or. He scratches at his neck, feeling the skin under his fingers change texture. Oops. He wills himself to calm down, to put the Beast away. 

“Come onnnnuh.” Pietro inches forward on the seat, making room for Hank on the back of the bike. It probably isn’t meant for two people, but Hank fits perfectly in the space left for him. “Hang on, Blue.” 

Hank hardly has the time to react when Pietro kicks the bike into gear, rolling it forward before giving it gas. He purposefully slows himself down, swallows the impulse to gun the gas, to scream out of the parking lot with the smell of burning rubber. He takes it at a decent pace, going slower than necessary on campus roads ( _pedestrians_ , he reassures Hank, but its bullshit). When he gets to the ramp to the highway, he yells for Hank to hold on, gunning it to catch the speed high he wants.

He almost laughs when he feels Hank’s fingers dig into his stomach, body pressing flush against his back.

 _Poor thing._ Its all fake pity.

He eases back on the throttle, slowing to maintain the speed limit rather than exceed it. Cars begin to creep in, and soon they’re in heavy traffic. Pietro takes measured glances around himself, dodging between cars and across lanes without slowing, reflexes keeping him (and his passenger) from danger. He takes a ramp and slows, bringing the pace to something comfortable as they coast into the parking lot of the diner.

“Jesus,” Hank breathes, pulling the helmet off when Pietro turns the bike off.

“You gonna make it, Hank?” He sounds genuine concerned.

“That. Was. Awesome!” Hank rakes a hand through his hair again, fixing the mess the helmet had made. “I have to admit: the speed, well, not great. But you…you just…”

“Reflexes~” Pete reminds him, winking.

“Yeah. Whew. Yeah. Haha, that. Oh look, we’re here.”

“Oh, Speedies I have missed you!” Pete croons, throwing the door open with much unnecessary fervor.

“Of course the diner is called Speedies…” Hank mutters under a laugh, giving a small smile to the waitress that greets them.

“Hiya Pete,” She says with a smile, “How are you tonight? Brought a friend?”

“Hey Page! Great!” Pete explains, “Late night study food. Good feed the brain to feed the brain, yanno? And yeah, this is Hank. My roommate.”

She giggles, “Well, we’ll get you fed then! Studying for the SEA, huh? And this one is much less of a dickbag than last years roomie, huh?”

“Yeah, uh huh. To all the above. Especially the studying for the SEA part.” 

“Ugh, I hated the SEA. Glad I made it through the first time.” She directs them to a booth, takes their drink orders, and tells them she’ll be back in a jiffy. 

“She goes to Xavier’s?”

“Yep. She’s a senior.” Pete leans back in the booth, giving Hank a lazy smile.

“What?”

“I thought you were going pull me in half you were clinging so hard.”

“Oh leave off me. That was my…first time on a motorcycle. I uh, I don’t get out much.”

“Gotta try everything once, right?”

Page comes back with their drinks, and Peter downs his Mountain Dew like water, prompting her to refill it immediately before taking their food orders. She smiles at Pietro, “Wait, let me see if I can get it right this time. You want the special. Eggs scrambled, bacon, sausage, ham, and hashbrowns. With a double side of white toast, and a side stack of pancakes, extra syrup.”

“I come here a lot, don’t I?”

Page laughs, “Petey I think I saw you more last year than the classroom saw you.”

He gives a sheepish shrug, honestly surprised that Hank is so cool about him eating half the menu. Then again, they've been roommates for a whole seven weeks. Hank should be used to his every-meal-binge-eating by now.

“And what about you, dear?”

Hank swears he didn’t even get a chance to look over the menu, but he knows what he wants regardless, “Pietro says you have the best pancakes in town?”

“You bet your butt we do!”

He flips to the pancake section, looking it over once, and then, “I’ll have a stack then. The bananas fosters ones.”

“Nice choice. Alright gentlemen, I’ll be back as soon as it’s up.” She whisks herself away with a swish of her skirt, palming the menus and tucking them under her arm. And then she’s pouring coffee and Hank might be staring. He thinks she looks familiar, but he can’t place her. He’s distracted by a kick from Pietro.

“Her brother would kick your skinny little ass if he saw you right now.”

“I wasn’t-!”

“Yeeeeaaahahaha okay.”

Hank fixes him with a sour stare and he laughs, tugging at the goggles around his neck.

“I’m jooooooking. Easy, Beastie.”

Hank sighs, “I’m losing valuable study time only to be pestered by you.”

“And have awesome pancakes. You can’t forget the pancakes. If anything the pancakes will be worth any pain you might endure for the rest of the semester on my behalf.”

Hank side-eyes him as he sips his Coke, “So what was with the suddenly, unyielding urge to learn Russian?”

“Let’ssss just forget about that, okay? Okay. Great. Moving on.” He moves his gaze to the window, resting his chin in his hand. His gloves feel cool against his skin.

“Trying to get in touch with your roots, _Pietro?_ ”

His gaze snaps over to Hank as an involuntary shudder runs through him, “Ground rule. GROUND RULE. Don’t say my name like that. Please. Spare me the long suffering agony.” He definitely doesn’t want to admit he has a word-language-accent-whatever kink in the middle of a diner to his roommate. Does NOT.

“Sure.” Hank raises his brow, looking over his glasses, “Whatever you say… _Pietro._ ”

“DUDE. GROUND. RULE.”


End file.
